Rebirth
by LadyKappa
Summary: Post HBP AU in which Draco leaves home, attempts suicide and is rescued by a Muggle girl. DM/OFC. Incomplete story started in 2004. Only keeping it for archiving purposes; it's going to get rewritten from scratch.
1. The Man With The Hollow Arm

**Title:** Rebirth

**Author:** darchangel

**Chapter:** 01 – _The man with the hollow arm_

**Summary: **set post-HBP After the Hogwarts incident, Draco fled—he didn't care where he would go, as long as no one could find him. When he nearly dies, a Muggle girl takes care of him. But it's Draco Malfoy—will he let her?

**WARNING: **HBP SPOILERS! Do not read if you haven't read the book! Readers, ye be warned!

**Disclaimers: **I don't own Draco (too bad, though), Harry Potter or any of the plot that happened before the story. I do own Anne and the rest of the characters appearing and that's awesome! LOL.

The plot, characters, bands and songs mentioned are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people and songs is entirely coincidental.

**Author's Notes:**

**1.** I never expected to be writing a Draco fic, but after HBP it just cried out! Please keep note that Draco is the only known character you'll see in this fic, except for the one or two last chapters. Don't wait for Pansy to appear or something. She's DEAD (no she isn't, but she might as well be :P)…!

**2.** Please ignore the slight anachronisms here and there—it is really hard to keep in mind you're writing a story that is set nearly ten years ago (1996, to be exact), even JK herself forgot about it more than once. Don't be too hard on that, plz.

**3.** The POVs (Points Of View) will change from time to time, and I won't say anything like "Draco's POV". Work it out yourself, you're a smart audience!

Oh, and_ italics _mean THOUGHTS. Just in case you were wondering.

**4.** It would be **strongly recommended** if you read this chapter while listening to the "Village" OST by James Newton Howard (you know, M. Night Shyamalan's movie). That's what I was listening to when I wrote this, and it really adds to the atmosphere.

Please read and review and tell me if it's good or not,  
constructive criticism is also appreciated! Thanks, and on you go!

xXx

_There never was a matter of choice for me. Choice between good and evil… I guess it had always been chosen_ for _me. I was to walk the Dark path, the evil one, whether I wanted it or not._

_I actually thought I wanted it. For almost my entire life, I had believed that it was my destiny—but not anymore. When I was forced to face my destiny and see what true evil was like, I cringed. I wanted out. But I was not allowed. Nor was I ever to be._

_I didn't care. It didn't matter to me whether I was the only under-aged Death Eater in history. I didn't give a shit for the Dark Lord's trust… I didn't like what was going on, and didn't want to be a part of it. But I had no choice. It wasn't _me_ Voldemort had chosen. He chose Lucius Malfoy's son—for vengeance._

The air was dry and dusty—it was as if it carried with it a thick, black smoke so dense you could hold it in your palm. The sky was cloudless, but starless all the same. Time felt eternal and yet instant in the empty roads that he roamed. He was looking for something he couldn't find—peace. He knew he couldn't go back to who he was; his old self had been a lie from the start. But it was all he ever knew, and now he had lost it.

The dark figure kept walking on, and the road seemed to never end. His black cloak was trailing behind him, already worn and dirty. His big, gray eyes were empty and hollow, and his face was divided by a thin scar… So thin, in fact, that he would have to wash his face to get a proper look at it—but he didn't care about it. The scar, his face, anything. He didn't care about his own life. He hadn't eaten in days and his sleep-deprived eyes had started to sink. His once-blond hair was now a mousy yellow from the unending wandering… He had been on the road for weeks now. He had lost track of the days; was it two or three weeks ago that he fled from the Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort, his father? He couldn't remember—and it didn't matter anyway.

A black bird flew high overhead. Nothing else moved in that still night, not even the air. In the middle of the night, at the very early hours of a new day, no one except him walked that road… A road in the midst of a desert. Well, not exactly a desert, but it was barren enough to be called that. No one apart from that lonely, dark figure… Draco Malfoy.

He took his wand out once again. For the umpteenth time he tried to take away the Dark Mark from his forearm—otherwise it would only be a matter of time before they tracked him down. He whispered and whispered again a forgotten incantation, but it did no good; the Mark on his arm was there, clean and black as ever. His flesh burned more and more every day as the Dark Lord called all those who had abandoned him to return to their master. Draco recoiled. "You never _were_ my master! Just go away!" But the Mark did not obey. Once again, he sank to his knees and cried silently. He had reached the outskirts of a town, and the orange light from the street lamps faded against the pitch-black sky.

He kept going a little bit more. A cat meowed nearby. The tempting thoughts he'd been having for some days recurred to him, and he tried to ignore them. But it seemed like the only way. His desperation didn't leave room for much else, and time was running thin. Could he risk it? By now those thoughts had become nothing but a mere background noise in his head… A solution for when all else failed. Bit too much, true, but still effective. Maybe he'd die in the process, but he didn't care anymore. What was left there to protect, to love, to live for? _Family? Friends? Love?_

Nothing. As dawn was breaking through the darkness of the night, Draco decided. He put his wand inside his pocket again and drew out the little knife with the serpentine emblem. _The Malfoy crest._ Draco sneered at it for a moment. Everything he had lived for, everything he had ever said or felt or even cared about was a lie. A well constructed and real-looking and sounding lie, but still a lie. Nothing could go back to anywhere. He didn't know what to feel, for one thing: angry at the betrayal, or thankful for the revelation? Nothing mattered now._ So what if I die? No one will miss me anyway._

And with the knife that still bore the crest that haunted his life, he cut away the ugly, terrifying and unwanted—forever, it was unwanted—Dark Mark from his arm. A slight breeze carried away that black smoke that seemed to suffocate him, and with it went away all his guilt and fear and desperation… With his blood.

_Maybe I'll die,_ he thought among the pain and the bleeding, _but at least the part of me that had anything to do with you will die with me. There… That's something worth dying for._

xXx

Anne sipped the last bit of her orange juice hastily and put her favourite black shoes on.

"Dad, I'm going!"  
Her father lifted his eyes momentarily from washing the dishes in the sink. He whispered an indistinct "bye sweetheart" and looked at his daughter take off without shooting another glance at him. He adjusted the rim of his glasses on his nose and continued with the chores, hoping to finish them on time for lunch.

The day looked okay so far—no clouds, a bright blue sky, sunny but not hot. A perfect summer day, for all she cared. She put her headphones on and clicked her iPod alive. Searching through her songs, she made a right turn in Portsmouth Crescent, walking towards St. Nicholas Hospital where she worked voluntarily every day during the summer and part-time during the winter. Her light auburn hair—almost orange—fell casually just above her shoulders, and her occupied light blue eyes skimmed the vicinity before returning to her playlist.

_Artists  
The Dead Cockroaches  
__The Fujis  
__The Patriots  
__The Phantom Princes  
__The Phantoms  
__The Rioting Bullets…_

She selected the Dead Cockroaches and put the iPod on hold and in the back pocket of her gray pants. The first song started—_"Man on the Looney Moon"_—and she started walking with the rhythm. Life for Anne was a huge movie; every scene in her life was just like those in all the movies she so liked to watch. She enjoyed making sure that she had a soundtrack to go with it, too. The bands she liked were small and probably unheard of by most people around the world, let alone the small town she lived in. But she didn't care—as long as the lyrics were cool, and the music sounded nice, that's all she wanted.

_Take away the pain, baby,  
__and kiss my lips like you know how…  
__Take me to the looney moon  
__and don't turn on the lights  
_'_cause we aren't coming home…_

Anne Richards was by no means a popular girl by everyone's standards. She liked to have fun, laugh and make the others around her have a good time, which meant that pretty much anyone could enjoy her company. Maybe the A-crowd people wouldn't exactly be her best friends, but it's not like she'd shove them away because she couldn't listen to Backstreet Boys… She had a thin and slender figure, light blue eyes, auburn hair and naturally pink lips, and liked to dress "simply, but dark". Her favourite attire, the one she was wearing now, was a black T-shirt and gray pants, and of course her beloved black trainers. A silver Braille talisman jingled at her neck, spelling the word "rose"—she'd been obsessed with roses for as long as she could remember.

The song was reaching the guitar solo as she turned left into Nelson Court towards St. Nicholas Hospital, when she saw an unbelievable sight: a man lay on the pavement close to the corner of an abandoned building… It _had_ to be a man…

_Is that… what I think it is?_

She ran to the dark figure and knelt down beside him. Yes, it was a man—he was in such a state, as if he had lived in the streets for God knows how long. Anne threw the headphones away from her ears and tried to find where the huge amount of blood that stained the ground around her had come from. When she did, she looked away for a moment, but then refocused.

_This man could die! This thing might already be infected! _She nearly panicked at the sight of the man's brutally mangled arm—it was as if a whole part of his arm (flesh, blood and all) had been grotesquely removed from its rightful place. It looked like it had been bleeding for the better part of the night. She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to calm herself down. _What do you do when you find someone dying? Think, THINK!_

Suddenly it dawned on her—call for an ambulance! It would be Eric who drove the ambulance in the mornings, but she'd deal with that in order to save this man's life…

She pressed the hospital phone number that she knew so well, having called so many times for being late to work or something… It rang… and it rang… and it rang…  
_Of all days to be sleeping in!_ she thought frantically. _Come on! Pick up! Someone!  
_Finally, Ruth the receptionist answered.

"St. Nicholas Hospital."  
"RUTH! It's me, Anne," said Anne, almost panting from her hurriedness to save the poor man that lay unconscious in front of her.

"Why, good morning, Anne! Did you just wake up?"  
"Ruth, I need to speak to Eric! I found a man lying on the street here, and his arm is open and bleeding! He might be dead, I don't know—"  
"Did you check his pulse?"  
"How do you do that?"  
"Eh, you put your fingers on his carotid to see if there's a blood pulse."  
"I thought they only do that in movies."  
"Well, it works in real life."  
"Oh, okay…"

Anne put her two first fingers on the man's carotid. His skin was soft, but dirty. She took a closer look at his face. He wasn't old at all—he barely looked 20.  
There was a pulse beneath her fingers.

"I can feel it, Ruth! It's really faint, but it's pulsing!"  
"Okay, I'll put you through to Eric! Hang in there, Anne!"

Moments later, Eric's voice replaced Ruth's on the other side of the line.  
"Oy, Anne! How's it goin'?"  
"I found a man here, and he's dying!"  
"Slow down, princess, what's going on?"  
"ARGH! Just get your stupid fat bottom here! I'm on Nelson Court and Pilkington Crescent. Be here in two seconds! He doesn't look alive!"  
"Yes, but are you sur—"  
"JUST GET DOWN HERE!"  
She hung up and thrust her phone inside her bag. She turned to the man, who was fluttering his eyelids as if he was just waking up from a dream. His eyes were unfocused for a moment, and then he saw Anne.

"Hi…" said Anne awkwardly, eyes wide. She sat up and looked at the man's face intently. "Don't worry, I'm taking you someplace safe."  
He didn't respond—he merely pulled his arm away from Anne's hands, where she was holding him tightly, not having noticed.

"Oh!" she gasped, retreating her hands. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"  
_Very clever question, Annie… The guy's almost bled to death!_

He didn't answer. He looked at her with eyes full of contempt and whispered faintly, as loudly as his frail body allowed him, "Away… from me… Muggle…"

And he turned his head the other way, and passed out again.

xXx

The short trip to St. Nicholas' was quiet. Eric didn't talk much except his irritating "Good mornin' princess", which Anne had grown tired of since they had stopped dating quite a while ago, and a "Holy cow! Poor fella," or something to that effect when he first set eyes on the young man lying on the street. Anne wasn't listening; her mind was occupied with the young man's only words… They didn't make any sense, and that scared her. _Is he mental? How bad is his case? What is "Muggle" anyway? Why the attitude? Perhaps it was a dream…? Who is he?_ She didn't dare guess any further. As Eric halted the ambulance in front of the Emergency doors, she resolved to let it wait until the man could speak… Given that he survived.

Eric took the young man out of the ambulance and rolled him past the Emergency doors.  
"We've got a suicide case, he sliced his arm open…" he shouted as he came through, and the doctors took it from there. Anne watched in shock as the whole thing happened too fast before her eyes.

"Jesus!" a doctor cried. "A whole piece of his arm is missing! What did he do?"  
"Man, these kids do crazy things to themselves…"

As the doctors disappeared behind a set of gray doors, the young man's words echoed in her mind…

"_Away… from me… Muggle…"  
__I wonder what he meant._

And she turned away, shaking her head as if shaking the man from her head, and headed towards the first floor, where she'd change into her pink nurse outfit—she sighed at the thought—and begin her day. _There will be room for everything… All in good time._

_xXxXxZE ENDXxXxX_

**Another quick A/N:** Sorry if this was short, but I don't want to give out too much from this early on in the story. Chapter 2 will be juicier, and it will be up soon…

I'll answer to all the reviews, so if you have any questions (not plot-wise, plz) feel free to ask!

Updation: I updated the chapter because there is a twist in Anne's character I didn't think of while writing. Chapter two is coming shortly; I had to build up three new characters, including Anne, from scratch! I didn't like the way she was coming along… I won't say patience is a virtue, because I don't believe it. Oh well. Worry not, my dear friends! It will be up within a few days!


	2. Dead End

**Title:** Rebirth  
**Author:** darchangel  
**Chapter:** 02 – _Dead End  
_**Summary: **set post-HBP After the Hogwarts incident, Draco fled—he didn't care where he would go, as long as no one could find him. When he nearly dies, a Muggle girl takes care of him. But it's Draco Malfoy—will he let her?  
**WARNING: **HBP SPOILERS! Do not read if you haven't read the book! Readers, ye be warned!  
**Disclaimers: **I don't own Draco (too bad, though), Harry Potter or any of the plot that happened before the story. I do own Anne and the rest of the characters appearing and that's awesome! LOL.

The plot, characters and bands mentioned are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people and bands is entirely coincidental.

**Author's Notes:**

Sorry it took so long. I let it go almost a month straight without setting my fingers on my keyboard! Gomenasai! ( sorry in Japanese) For some strange reason, transitional chapters like this one are harder to write than the actual plot chapters. Anyway, there are answers to all the **reviews** from the first chapter at the end of this chapter… :) Just scroll past the text.

**1.** As was the case in the previous chapter, forgive me for any anachronisms I might make. No doubt the iPod is one… Were iPods around in the '90s? Ffshuu… Anyway.

**2.** A standard-procedure A/N: the POVs (Points Of View) will change from time to time, and I won't say anything like "Draco's POV". Work it out yourself, you're a smart audience!  
Oh, and _italics_ mean THOUGHTS. Just in case you were wondering.

**3.** "xXx" indicates a significant change, like a very important POV change or time that has passed, maybe a flashback or whatever. I'm going to be using this from now on instead of horizontal bars, they mess up my story layout, lol.

**4.** I know, this chapter is almost twice as long as the first one… But I think it is okay. The length I mean. Lol. Again, feel free to ask any questions regarding the characters or whatever... And expect a lengthy chapter three. Although I don't know if it's going to be as lengthy as this one... :)

Enjoy the reading… thumbs up and thanks for all your comments! )

xXx

"Annie, could you please take these to Dr Connors upstairs?"  
"Uh, sure Ruth."  
Anne received the large stack of papers and left the St Nicholas Hospital reception desk, heading towards the elevators used by doctors and nurses down the hall. The door was closing, a nurse squeezed in…

"WAIT!" Anne wailed, and tried to run (although the stack in her hands was rather huge).  
The door was held open for a moment, and Anne made it in without dropping the papers she was holding, panting slightly.  
"Thank you," Anne whispered, but no one in the elevator so much as smiled or nodded. Anne really hated it when people avoided communication just like that, with no apparent reason. But she couldn't do anything about it; _"people are people,"_ that's what her father used to tell her.  
Two nurses were muttering at the very back of the elevator, obstructed from Anne's eyesight by a cardboard box someone was carrying. Anne wasn't particularly interested in gossip, but she heard a specific combination of words that immediately grasped her attention.

"That blond boy is driving me mad…"  
"What blond boy?"  
"That kid who tried to kill himself this morning."  
Anne tried to keep herself from turning around, but at the same time strained to listen to the whispered conversation.

"Why?" asked the second nurse. The first one exhaled heavily; Anne could easily visualise her rolling her eyes and shaking her head like an old spinster—she wasn't that old, but she had this attitude of whining and complaining about everything under the sun… She drove everyone nuts.  
"He calls me names, speaks so rudely… Not just me, poor Nancy Preston from the Toxicology lab, he nearly pulled all her hair off her head! It's like he's Prince Charles or something!"  
"Well, Prince Charles isn't _that_ rude!" protested her friend.  
"I know that, but he also happens to own the country! This boy, he acts as if he owns the whole bloody Kingdom!"  
Some people shifted uneasily in their positions at this outburst, but no one reacted. Moments later the elevator _binged!_ and the doors opened for everyone to file out.

Anne felt her stomach clench. The boy she had found this morning—_so it was a BOY, not a MAN!_—seemed to be a real pain… for everyone. She bit her lower lip; _what the hell is going on?_ she thought as the doors slid open and everyone started to file out. _Who is he? What's he doing here?_

Lost in her thoughts, Anne left the elevator with a grim expression on her face. The pack of papers in her arms felt heavier by the second, and she focused on carrying out what she'd been told to do; there would be time to deal with the boy… eventually. There was something mysterious about him; there was no doubt about that.

A doctor rushed past her, his white robes billowing behind him. As he noticed her, he spun around.

"Annie!"  
"Yes, Dr Michaels?"  
"You found that boy this morning, right?"  
"Yes, sir," said Anne, looking troubled. _That boy again!  
_"Did you catch his name?"  
Anne thought for a moment. "Um… No," she said finally, "he didn't really say anything."  
"Oh," said Dr Michaels, baffled. "We don't know anything about him; he won't tell us anything about his ID. We figured he's some sort of a runaway, but the police said they don't have anyone reported as missing with his description…"

Anne looked a bit sceptical, and Dr Michaels dismissed her as he continued towards the far end of the hallway where the ER was.  
"Never mind, Annie," he said loudly looking over his shoulder at her, "We'll work it out!"  
The girl stood there still thinking, the heavy pack of papers still in her hands.  
_You mean** I'll** work it out;_ she thought determinedly and looked around. She had to find Dr Connors, deliver the papers to him, and then—

"Watch where you're going! What are you, b—oh, it's you Annie!"  
Absent-minded as she was, she had accidentally bumped into Dr Connors himself.  
"Oh! I'm so sorry… I wasn't looking—"  
"Never mind," he smiled, "there's nothing to worry about."

Dr Connors was a very attractive man; nurses whispered in dark, dusty corners of the hospital that he was the best-looking man walking around that God-forsaken place. His ebony hair fell casually over his forehead, and his sparkling blue eyes captivated the hearts of many women inside and outside the hospital. He seemed to be much attuned with himself, and that's why he always hit on everything female under the age of 40 that moved. Including Anne.

"So… How's your life?" he said, almost winking at her.

Anne looked Dr Connors in the eyes. She wasn't the type of person who would blush and giggle when a handsome man hit on her; the thing is, he was a _man_, and she was still a _girl_. That, she knew very well. Even in the extravagant case that Dr Connors actually liked her, this would never turn out well for her. And she wasn't one to shut up about it either.

"My life is fine, Dr Connors, and yours?"  
"Oh, how many times have I told you to call me David?"  
"Ever since I came here, Dr Connors, and you'll continue to tell me until it's etched in your head that I'm seventeen years old."  
"Oh, come on, Annie! We're just talking here!"  
"_Just talking_ can go way too far if you keep that charm turned on. Go find someone your age, for crying out loud."  
"Do I look _that_ old?"  
"You're not twenty, that's for sure."  
"Very well, as you wish. I never said anything though."  
"You try too hard not to be too obvious. I might be young, but I know how you think."  
"You're a smart one, aren't you?"  
"One has to try."  
"True enough." He smiled again, but this time it was genuine. This spunk that Anne showed was truly intriguing. _She's playing hard-to-get… I like that._

"Anyway, what's this _tower_ you're carrying?" he said, showing interest towards the pile Anne had been holding all this time.  
"It's actually for you, Dr Connors," Anne replied with a smug grin, expecting his reaction.  
"For me!" he said, taken aback and forgetting all about the _Dr Connors_ he seemed to dislike so much—he'd probably prefer it if that daunting package was meant for someone else rather than himself.  
"Yes, Ruth told me to give it to you."  
"Is that so?" he smiled uncomfortably. "Well then, I should unload you from this burden!" he said and received the pile from Anne, who was very much relieved to be rid of it. Dr Connors winked at her once more and zoomed off towards his office.

_Now…_ she thought, turning around towards the other end of the corridor where the elevators were. _Time to shed some light on our mystery guy._

xXx

Avoiding any kind of hospital authority was not an easy thing to do; Anne, as a volunteer, had to answer to almost everyone in St. Nicholas' with a permanent job. It was only her and one older girl who did volunteer work this summer, and they were given a number of things to do—sometimes low-rank nurses tried to exploit them and make them do _their_ work, but Anne didn't mind; working at the hospital was her lifelong dream. However she couldn't afford to lose any more time today. Walking with her head down, not looking people in the eyes, secretively headed towards the blond boy's room (where she had passed by earlier today, witnessing the boy's alarmingly hostile behaviour). Stopping outside the room, Anne peeked inside.

There he was, lying on his bed, looking away towards something Anne couldn't see from where she was standing. The auburn-haired girl noticed how handsome the boy was, since it was the first time she got a proper look at him since she had rescued him: he had light blond hair that fell elegantly above his mysterious, gray eyes; his body seemed very slender and fit—the bit of chest that lay uncovered by the white linen sheets of the hospital was lined with scars, only deeper than the scar on his face. His entire left forearm was wrapped in a white linen bandage. His expression was grim and maybe sad but determined. Having just yelled at another couple of nurses, he looked somewhat calmed down.

_There's no better time than now,_ Anne thought. _Let's do it already!  
_And she stepped hesitantly into the blond boy's room, her heart pounding like crazy against her chest.

xXx

Draco was gazing outside the window, where a small garden was being kept for the patients' rehabilitation. There were tree branches brushing against the panel, and the sun made the leaves glow with a bright, summery colour, almost yellow. He had apparently been brought to some sort of a hospital that was full to the brim with Muggles—whoever had brought him here must certainly be in the mood for a joke… _I wanted to die, and I ended up here… How idiotic is this world?_

"Um… Knock knock."  
Draco turned his head to see a girl with light red hair, dressed in a pink-and-blue nurse outfit and blue slippers.  
"Who are _you_?" he asked, his voice tired from yelling at nurses who only came to make his life more miserable.  
"I'm the one who found you," she said timidly. "I brought you here."  
"Yeah, great, thanks a lot," said Draco bitterly, and looked outside the window again. The girl remained silent for a moment, looking at him.

_He certainly seems intriguing…_ Anne thought. The truth was, she couldn't stop thinking about him ever since she had brought him in there that same morning… But certain things he said or did were at least ungrateful, not to say repulsive. Why he yelled so much at nurses, why he never let anyone touch him… It was a bit annoying, really, to have to anesthetize a patient to be able to hold him still and stitch him up.

"How are you feeling?" she said finally.  
Draco scoffed. "I've been better."  
The girl prepared to retaliate that sarcastic remark, but decided not to since the guy was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress. Or so she thought, in any case.

"I'm Anne. What's your name?"  
Silence.  
"Um, I've never seen you before; you must be from out of town… Where d'you come from?"  
Silence.  
She was standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him and trying to attract his attention.  
Silence.  
"Why don't you say something?"  
"Like what? What do you want to hear?" he said with a bitter, tired tone in his voice, moving his head so that he could see her.

Anne was taken aback; the boy was looking into her eyes with a desperate and melancholic look, as if he cried out that he was truly sorry that he was even alive right now.  
"I don't want to hear something I want to hear," she said, "…just tell me your name."  
Silence.  
"You _do_ have a name, don't you?"  
"Of course I do!" he snapped.  
"Well, what is it then?"  
Draco fell silent once again. He feared to reveal his true name, for it might reach the ears of the Death Eaters, and everything he'd done would be in vain. He hadn't planned for any of this to happen; he shouldn't have survived in the first place…

Anne took a deep breath. Draco was looking outside the window again, trying to think of a way to escape…  
"Well, are you going to tell me anytime soon? I'm trying to help, you know!"  
"I don't need your help!"  
"We have to contact your family!"  
Draco snorted. "I _have_ no family!"  
"But you have a name!"

Their voices had been rising to a crescendo with no end, when suddenly the blond boy snapped under its pressure.  
"Drac—"  
"… _What?"_

He had almost let slip his name… The only thing that kept his existence a secret. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.  
"So… it's Drake?"  
Draco opened his eyes and looked at Anne bewildered. "Hmm!"  
"Your name… It's Drake?"  
"Wha— no!"  
"What do you mean _no_? It's not Drake? You're not making any sense…"  
"No, it's not that—"  
"What is it then?"  
"Argh, leave me alone!"  
Draco's mind was racing; his veins were throbbing as blood rushed to his head. _I can't say it's not my name! It sounds so stupid! Darn! I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for anything!_

After a long, awkward silence, Anne spoke again.  
"So, Drake…" she said, "… do you have a last name?"  
Draco tried to make up something on the spot. _Kerrf… no, Weas—ew, no…  
_He turned away from Anne and noticed writing on the bedside table to his right. Apparently the manufacturer was called…

"Morrigan!" he exclaimed, turning to Anne again.  
She smiled smugly, as if she was saying _'I told you soooooo'_…  
"Nice to meet you, Drake Morrigan!" she said finally. "I'm Anne Richards."  
Draco felt the muscles on his face relax somewhat. This girl had managed to make him forget, if only for a little while, all the dark and haunting thoughts that never left him.

But remembering that he had actually forgotten all about it, the thoughts came back.  
And that faint smile was lost, perhaps for good.  
He looked away to his left, where the window was. He could think of nothing but Hogwarts. The halls, the grounds, the black sky illuminated by the Dark Mark… Dumbledore's pleas echoing in his mind… "_Severus… please…"_

"Drake… Drake. Drake! DRAKE!"  
He snapped back to reality and turned to Anne, who looked as though she was expecting some kind of a reaction or an answer from him.  
"You didn't hear me, did you?" she said sympathetically, extending her right hand towards him. "I'm Anne Richards."  
Draco saw where this was going and pursed his lips together in contempt. "Don't touch me," he said austerely.  
"Oh," she said, taking her hand back and looking surprised. "Well… Do you want me to get you anything?"  
"No."  
"Okay then… I have to go now, my day is over. But I'll be here tomorrow morning to check on you, 'kay?" she said moving towards the door. "Take care."  
And she smiled at him one last time before turning around and leaving the room.

"Don't bother," whispered Draco to no one, turning once again to look outside the window. "I don't need anyone."

Somewhere in the town square, a big church tower clock was chiming 5 o'clock.

xXx

"He can only stay for another day—Thursday, he'll have to go."  
"But Dr Michaels—"  
"I've done what I could do, Annie. There are no Morrigans anywhere around here or in any town nearby. He probably gave you a fake name, and no one here has the luxury of time to tend to a bipolar kid with psychological issues. By rule I can't keep him any longer, he has no money or insurance to pay for his treatment."  
"But he needs to be taken care of!"  
"He should go to his family then. We can't afford charities."

Dr Michaels threw her a sympathetic yet uncaring look and strode off. His golden hair shone in the light of the halogen lamps overhead and his immaculate white robes billowed behind him as he zoomed away, not once looking back. Anne stood there, in the middle of the hallway in the Orthopaedics Department, eyes still wide in shock.

They were throwing him out. The kind of thing they usually did to homeless, raggedy people, they were now doing to Drake. On Thursday morning he would be given a pair of crutches (which would be of no use since it was his arm that hurt, not any leg) or some other sort of appliance that he wouldn't be able to pay for _or_ use, for what it's worth, and he'd be sent on his way to nowhere. For everyone else he was an attempted suicide case—but she cared about him. _They have to look for his family! There HAS to be someone!_

A nurse passed by her and bumped into her shoulder; Anne was brought back to reality. A big, modern looking clock on the hallway wall above the elevator showed a quarter past two in the afternoon. She had a few more hours to think of something, but time was ticking past…

She set her jaw and moved forward—that boy thrown out in the street was the last thing she wanted to see.

xXx

The sleep was forcefully pulled away from Draco's eyelids as another nameless nurse strutted into his room on Wednesday morning and flung the curtains open. He moaned and turned the other way; his head ached like mad, and his eyes hurt as if he had no energy at all—as if he was really, really sick.

The nurse strutted out of his room in the same brisk, dry manner she had come in with, just as a bewildered Anne Richards entered. She stared blankly in the direction of the dark-skinned, bespectacled nurse for a moment, but came to quickly and turned to look at the blond boy.

The expression on his face was one of utter annoyance; his eyes were shut tightly as he turned away from the window, and his hands were covering his ears as if every sound drove him mad. He was quivering, even though it was as hot as hell that late July morning. He looked feverish—_did that nurse check on him at ALL!_

She walked quickly across the room in her blue slippers and pulled the curtains shut again. As the sunlight was blocked Draco relaxed a little and opened his eyes only to see that girl who claimed to have brought him there… She looked _concerned._

"Good morning," she said quietly, approaching his bed. "How are you feeling?"

The boy shifted in his position; the linen sheet that used to cover him had almost fallen off the bed on the cold, marble floor. Anne picked it up and covered him again, unwillingly staring at his naked, attractive torso. She pulled her gaze away from him, covering him with the sheet and helping him sit up; she didn't dare look him in the eyes.  
_Whoa, what am I thinking? He's a patient! A gorgeous patient… but still a patient!_

She sat beside him on the bed.  
"I feel like I'm burning…" said Draco, tilting his head back to relieve himself from the dizziness he felt. The girl made a move to touch his forehead and check his temperature, but he flinched with an energy she never would have guessed he had.  
"Don't touch me!" he growled, throwing a fierce look at her. She was taken aback, to say the least—_what was WITH this guy?_

They both remained silent for a while, staring at each other intently. None of them faltered for one second. Anne finally decided to let it go and be polite.  
"Your wound is probably infected," she said, getting up and avoiding his look. "I'll bring you an antibiotic right away. Stay there and don't push the sheet away, you have to stay warm. Here, take this too," she said and covered him with a blanket that looked suspiciously old.  
With that she turned around and headed out to find some medicine to treat him with (or a doctor with a very strong nervous system…)

xXx

"I said DON'T TOUCH ME!"  
Four nurses were holding him down on the bed while Dr Michaels examined him. The boy was nearly foaming at the mouth, raging and yelling for the _"Muggles"_ to get off him. Everyone around him had freaked out and was filing out of the room frantically, leaving him alone panting and wheezing for breath.

Anne spotted a furious Dr Michaels striding in the hallway, heading her way. She tried to tame the butterflies in her stomach—what she was about to do was both foolish and brave.

"Dr Michaels!" she said, joining him in his frantic walk.  
"What, Annie?"  
"I've found a place for the boy to go."  
"Did you find his parents?"  
"No, sir."  
"Then where is he gonna go?"  
Anne told him.  
Dr Michaels seemed sceptical about it; he squinted at her and asked her suspiciously, "Do you have clearance?"  
"Yes, sir," Anne lied. "I asked."  
After a few more moments of thought Dr Michaels finally nodded in consent.  
"Very well," he said, "he may leave tomorrow morning." And he continued his way onwards, his walk somehow relaxed knowing he would get rid of the resident nuisance of the hospital.

"Hi…"  
Draco spun his head only to see that auburn-haired girl again.  
"Oh. It's you."  
"Were you expecting someone else?"  
"Maybe one of the 800 doctors who come in here to torture me!"  
"They only want to help," said Anne calmly.  
Draco didn't answer. He didn't want to risk the exposure of the wizarding world if he could help it—but these Muggles were so damn annoying…

"Anyway," continued the girl, "the good news is that you'll be out of here tomorrow morning."  
"And the bad news?"  
"Um, I don't think thereis any."  
"Hm." He was looking away from her again.  
"Has your fever dropped?"  
"Huh? Oh, yeah it has." Draco watched her walk away towards the window and almost said 'thanks'. But he didn't.

She was standing next to the window now, arms folded across her chest, her face withholding a faint, sad smile as she watched a 90-year-old-or-so grandma trying to stand on her feet again after a difficult operation.  
Somewhere in the distance the church tower clock chimed five.

Anne glanced at her watch hastily and looked at Draco, a regretful look on her face.  
"I have to go," she said and approached him. "Can you promise me you won't break this place down to pieces until tomorrow?"  
"I'm not your bloody kid."  
"I know that, but everyone blames me for bringing you here."  
"Damn right they do! You should have left me there to die!"  
"Don't talk like that!"  
"Don't order me! You filthy Muggle!"  
Anne's eyes widened again like they had when she had first heard the word come out of his mouth.  
"What does that mean?"  
"What!" Draco was panting, and apparently he hadn't realized what he had said.  
"Muggle… what does it mean?"

It was Draco's turn to widen his eyes. He blushed and looked the other way hastily, trying to think of something to say.

"Listen… I know this must be hard for you… But I—all of us here—we just want to help. But we can't do it if you don't let us."  
Draco looked up. The knot in his stomach loosened a bit. The girl looked genuinely concerned instead of angry… _She has to be the weirdest person I've ever met,_ he thought.  
Neither of them spoke for a while.  
In the end, Anne sighed and let go of the intense staring contest she and Draco had engaged in.  
"I'm off," she said. "Please be patient. It's just till tomorrow morning."  
Draco didn't answer. He continued to stare at her, but there was nothing disapproving about his manner. _She does have a point._

Anne left the room walking backwards at first, and then she turned around and exited to the busy hallway of the ER.  
Once in a good distance from the room, she stopped to take a breath. _I really must be nuts to be doing this… I just hope it works out._

xXx

_The wind is whistling as it weaves in and out of the old trees of the forest.  
__It's dark; I can't see a thing…  
__A cloak hem rustles somewhere near me.  
__I spin on my heels, try to see—nothing. No one. Not a person, not another sound other than the lurid whistling of the wind between the trees.  
__It's cold… I feel my knees tremble under an unknown pressure.__A voice whispers in my ear… Terrible words… frightful words… Words I thought I'd never hear again… My heart pounds like mad, I can't breathe, my skin is burning—_

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
Draco was all alone in a dark room he couldn't recognize at first sight. As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the shapes of all the bizarre instruments in the room he had been literally held captive for the past three days. _Just three days? _It seemed to him like it was ages…

There was a faint light filtering through the window, and Draco guessed it must still be early morning. All other light sources in the room were completely turned off. Suddenly an odd thought hit him.

_Where the hell is my wand!_

Terrified that it might have been destroyed by the unaware Muggles—Draco shivered at the mere thought of it—he sat up in his bed and tried to get up, to pull open the curtains, to search for his wand…  
A sharp pang in his left forearm made him howl with pain. He gave up trying to move and lay immobile on his bed, suppressing the tears that welled up inside his eyes. _Why did I survive? Why?_

After what seemed like a century, the door opened and a figure walked in. Draco squinted to make out who it was, but his eyes were still unaccustomed to the light. Meanwhile the figure walked over to the window and pulled the curtains wide open, allowing a faint, greyish light to enter the room.

"Not a very nice weather today, I'm afraid," the girl said, and Draco finally recognized her vivid auburn hair—it was Anne. _Man, this girl never quits!  
_"Good morning," she told him as she came close to his bedside and adjusted the blankets on top of him. The boy flinched. Anne's face quickly hardened.  
"Listen, this touch thingy has to stop. You've had your laugh, now stop it."  
"I'm not having a laugh."  
"Then quit it already! You can't live like this!"  
"Who said I wanted to live?" he yelled at her accusatively.  
Anne stared at him incredulously.  
"I don't believe you! After all we've done for you—"  
"I didn't ask for anything."  
"—and this is how you thank us… Well, I guess I won't be saving anyone else anytime soon."

Draco saw a tear roll down the girl's cheek as she turned around and left the room.  
Outside rain was falling lightly.  
He tilted his head to the back, resting it on the pillow; he closed his eyes and breathed. _I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said anything._

A content-looking Dr Michaels entered the room, accompanied by an array of doctors and nurses, his face glowing with a sinister glee.  
"Mr Morrigan!" he exclaimed, his small blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I see you're feeling better."  
Draco threw him an are-you-an-idiot look. "My fever hasn't dropped yet."  
"It's just an infection, you'll be fine," Dr Michaels said, not losing his light-hearted attitude for a second. "We have actually found you a place to go."  
The blond boy was astonished and shocked at the same time. _These people never give up!  
_"Nurse!"  
Two nurses approached Draco cautiously, and tried to help him get up. With a disgusted wince Draco let them get a hold of his upper arms so that he could actually stand up; within moments, he was on his feet.  
"See? You're absolutely fine. Now, follow me."

Draco tried his best to keep up with his idiotically multi-numbered escort as they wove in and out of corridors. He felt very dizzy and weak, but he could suffer almost anything if he could just _get out of there…_ They got into an elevator and Dr Michaels pressed the ground floor button almost cheerfully. Draco sighed. _…Whatever._

As they reached the reception, Draco was surprised to see a casually dressed Anne standing by the reception desk, filling out forms. The noise of the footsteps made her turn around, and she gave them a sad nod before signing the paper and turning to Dr Michaels.  
"Is he ready?"  
"Even if he isn't, he'll be in good hands," winked Dr Michaels.  
Anne sighed, looking down. "We'll see about that."  
She turned to Draco now. Her eyes were slightly red from crying, but otherwise she seemed okay.  
"Let's go then," she said as she handed him a white T-shirt. Draco stood there staring at it for a moment. "Put it on," Anne urged him, "we don't have all day!"  
He put it on reluctantly. The escort took off.  
Anne turned around and beckoned him towards the exit. He followed her, a slightly incredulous look on his face. _After all I've said… she's the one to take me to wherever we're going?_

As they exited the hospital a blast of hot air hit them with a whoosh, and droplets of rain hit their foreheads. Worst possible weather for a summer day.  
"Whoa, it really is hot isn't it?" Anne remarked.  
Draco didn't answer. He only looked at her with a look that he hoped expressed his gratitude for her help, and then made to go.

"Wait, Drake!" she called after him. "Where are you going?"  
Draco stared at her questioningly. _To hell!_

She smiled at him somewhat sympathetically.  
"You're going the wrong way," she said. "My house is this way."

_xXxXxZE ENDXxXxX_

A/N: Please review, ne! And thank you for your patience!

* * *

**Answers to chap. 1 reviews**

**Demon Slaying Hanyou: **Why, thank you! Yeah I seem to dislike Pansy a GREAT lot. She's just so… blaaaaah. You know, bad boy gets bad girl. There's no fun and no point in that. Updation is here, although seriously delayed… :P Sorry for that.

**sophie-sticated90:** Love your pen-name! Yeah hugging your screen can be rather tricky… ahem Well, she did kinda feel something when she first saw his face (like, what would you feel if you'd seen a tormented Draco almost having bled to death? Except for the blood, well… drools) I hope it's evident in this chapter!

**Brknlight:** I hope I've lived up to your expectations!

**RonGranger:** Thank you thank you! bows I don't usually _write_ Draco stories, I never had a particular soft spot for him until HBP! (Yes, I admit, I was never a Draco fangirl. And I DON'T like Tom Felton either. Dunno why, but I imagined this whole story as an anime… Draco would pretty much look like Yuki Eiri in Gravitation, only younger. Just in case someone knows what I'm talking about, lol.)

**Mooncheese:** Thanks a lot:) Draco is already 17 (his birthday is on June 5th, if I'm not mistaken, according to the HP Lexicon, and the story begins somewhere around the end of July). Anne is not 17 yet, but she will turn 17 on the 24th of December. She's preparing to go to 12th grade the coming September in the story that is, September 1996. I think. :P

**FastFuriousChick: **The answer you were looking for is in this chapter, I think… Well, glad you liked it! That suspense thing was what I was aiming for, lol!

**fahzzyquill:** Thank you! I will! (I seriously, seriously want to end this story because I already have a sequel in mind. I know everything I have to write, I just need to WRITE IT. I promise, I'll finish this story AND the next one. Mark my words— you shall have a complete fanfic one day! No, not just one! Two of them!)

**Gryffindorchic:** Arigato! (thank you in Japanese). Don't mind my Japanese blab here and there, I'm just mixing up my fandoms in my personal life AND my informal speech… Lol, I need to keep myself together:P

**BushyHaired:** Amy-san! Thanks for the review! Lolz. XD Actually (this comment goes to **sophie-sticated90** as well), that first part—the thoughts in italics—I wrote immediately after reading a particular passage in the book p. 130, US hardcover edition where Harry first states his suspicion that Draco is a Death Eater. Specifically, he says, "He's a Death Eater. He's been branded with the Dark Mark." At that moment I just closed my book and wrote this. I didn't know what to do with it; I just needed to write something. As it turned out, I found a good use for it, lol.

**retroliz: **Don't get mad… please? Sorry for delaying the chappie! It's all yours to enjoy now:)


	3. The Bridge

**Title:** Rebirth  
**Author:** darchangel  
**Chapter:** 03 – _The Bridge  
_**Summary: **set post-HBP After the Hogwarts incident, Draco fled—he didn't care where he would go, as long as no one could find him. When he nearly dies, a Muggle girl takes care of him. But it's Draco Malfoy—will he let her?

**WARNING: **HBP SPOILERS! Do not read if you haven't read the book! Readers, ye be warned!  
**Disclaimers: **I don't own Draco (too bad, though), Harry Potter or any of the plot that happened before the story. I do own Anne and the rest of the characters appearing and that's awesome! LOL.

The plot, characters, bands and songs mentioned are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people and songs is entirely coincidental.

**Author's Notes:**

**1. **Now that I've built up my characters, I'm good to go; hopefully I will have completed chapter four by the end of the Christmas holidays.

**2. **Forgive the anachronisms, please. I was surfing through HP Lexicon the other day and I read that JKR doesn't say directly when the story takes place because she doesn't want to spoil the directness of 'now', i.e. that we are okay believing that the story takes place in the present, whether that be in the 2000's or the 1990's. Well... you're cool with that, aren't you? ;-)

**3. **POVs are not stable. Sometimes it's Draco's POV, sometimes it's Anne's. I write from the POV I want the audience to see the situation from. If I want both POVs I write it with a neutral narrator. Only I won't say which witch is which; figure it out for yourself... (A hint: when I say _'Draco'_ it's either neutral or from Draco's point of view... Anne doesn't know his real name, does she? wink)

**4. **I might provide you with a drawing of the interior of Anne's house, as well as figurines of the characters that I am working on. I'll upload them on my deviantART and I'll let you all know. I think it might actually be very helpful for you guys.

That's all. Enjoy the reading, and thanks for your reviews:)  
(...Please review, ne?)

xXx

"What do you mean, your house?" the blond boy exclaimed, looking at Anne with shock.  
"What you heard. That's where we're going," she answered coolly, not looking at him and walking straight ahead in a road full of identical houses and similarly identical lawns.  
"I don't need to be taken in like some kind of beggar! I don't need your help!"  
"Well, suit yourself. You're not well and you won't leave until you _are_ well. I'm not letting you die like you tried to..." she said, stopping on her track and looking down. "You don't deserve it," she added as she looked up at him.

Draco restrained a blush at the girl's words that still rang bizarrely in his ears.  
"You don't know me," he said quietly, "you can't be sure that I don't deserve it."  
She had picked up the pace again, and was walking ahead of him, her hands in the pockets of her gray trousers and shoulders too slouched for a girl.

The memories of this past June were too painful to remember but too raw and vivid to keep back. _You don't know the monster I am,_ he thought. _I deserve to die the cruelest death.  
_"No one deserves it," Anne said in response, making him jump out of his deep thoughts. "I believe it and I will support it with all my might. As long as I can help it, you won't die."

Draco snickered and looked away from her, to the perfect lawns surrounding him. It looked so perfect, it was sickening.  
"Is this some kind of foolish, idealistic moral this community is trying to promote?"  
Anne bit her lower lip but didn't stop walking or look at him.  
"Just so you know, the foolish and idealistic moral is my own belief. No one promotes anything around here."  
For a moment, Draco thought he saw a flash of sadness in her eyes, a shadow he couldn't place. Her next words echoed in his mind with a very deep, resonating sound.

"_This place has been dead for too long for anyone to come up with something this life-supportive."_

He looked around him. The rain had forced everyone inside their houses; everything looked so gray and wet... it was depressing.

_This place is as dead as I am.  
__Something tells me I might even like it here._

They didn't speak at all for the remainder of the journey to Anne's house.

xXx

Draco half-expected a large, stone mansion in the center of the town... It would have been just what he was used to, only with more people surrounding him.

Alas, it was not.

But it wasn't a shabby wooden hut either.  
What he was looking at was a decent, brick-walled two-storey house with tall windows and what appeared to be an attic under the roof. There was a wide opening on the side of the house, which in all other houses were occupied by large vehicles with four wheels each that were made of metal and looked... beastly, but interesting.

Anne caught him staring at the neighbours' vehicle, and decided to comment.  
"You like cars?"  
Draco looked at her in disbelief. "What is their function?" he whispered in awe.  
Anne stared at him incredulously. "You mean you've never seen a car before?"

Sure he'd seen a car before. They zoomed past him from this or the other side on his tiresome and pointless journey to nowhere; they went around London in a much slower pace but still... they were everywhere. _But what are they exactly?_ he wondered.

"... You drive them around, they take you anywhere you want to go...?"  
Draco looked at the _car_ again. _That thing can Apparate? or fly?  
__Yeah, like that idiotic bloke's Anglia five years ago!  
__No wait... they nearly got expelled because they made it fly... I guess they don't really fly after all._

It was hard for him to even realize that everything around him was non-magical. There were no witches or wizards around him, no kids on broomsticks trying to outfly their brothers, no cloaks, no wands... Nothing.

_WHERE THE HELL IS MY WAND! _he thought in panic, and accelerated his pace to catch up with Anne._ How do I ask her now?_

"Erm... When I came I had a... a..."  
"A useless piece of wood and a cloak, I know. I took them last night when I left the hospital. They're upstairs," Anne answered as she fumbled in her bag for a key-ring with multiple keys on it. She selected a round one and opened the door, letting Draco in. He stared after her with a surprised look, amazed at her thoughtfulness and discretion as she didn't seem to want to know about that 'useless piece of wood'. He followed her inside, noticing the doormat which was immobile and unanimated, but only said "Welcome" in a curvy writing, with a flower at the end of the 'e'. No roaring or singing or hopping up and down like wizarding mats. He followed Anne inside, curious about what a Muggle home would look like. Truth was, he had somewhat abandoned the idea of all Muggles being disgusting or low—after all, this girl had indeed saved his life, and was now taking him into her home.

The interior was nothing like Draco had ever seen. First of all, it was clearly a Muggle residence; there were all sorts of electrical devices scattered throughout the living room and the kitchen, which could be seen far back on the right as he entered through the main door. The furniture looked somewhat futuristic—having grown up in environments of classical influence, the furniture inside Anne's house seemed a bit... simplistic. However the colour palettes around the living room were soothing and harmonic: the walls were painted a light greenish blue and the sofas had a light blue floral pattern with light green touches here and there. All wooden things around, including tables, chairs and the kitchen surface, were of a light brown colour, whereas the kitchen walls were painted with a creamy yellow colour that reminded Draco of Florean Fortesque's _Creamy Crème_ ice cream.

_He was killed before he even had a chance to escape. And it's not like he was a dangerous fellow..._ Draco thought, remembering the day that he overheard the Death Eaters talking about it. Whatever could such a nice man be responsible for? _He was nice to everyone, even to Slytherins whom I don't think he particularly liked..._

On the left there was a single white door and then a staircase which led to the second floor of the house. Anne was already climbing up the stairs and Draco followed her without further ado.

There were four or five doors around the second floor, and another staircase that he supposed led to the attic. The walls were stark white, and so were the doors except for the frames which were of a dark reddish brown colour. He noticed a door labeled 'Anne' with big, decorated letters, and another one labeled 'Tom' (who, Draco thought, must be her brother), with an undecorated white door between them.

Across the hall there were two more doors, and in the small wall there was another door towards which Anne was walking. He followed her and found himself in a bedroom with a four poster bed and semi-transparent orange-coloured curtains that bristled in the breeze coming in from the tall, open windows. The walls were painted a very light peach shade, and the furniture around was of a light, beech-brown colour. There was a bookcase filled top-to-toe with books and little boxes that were labeled 'CDs' (Draco wondered what that might be) and 'candles' and other things like that, a dresser with a mirror on top, a wardrobe and two bedside tables on either side of the king sized four-poster bed. The view was nothing much; there was a back yard and then a fence, and further than that there were other houses, so still and gray in the misery of the rain.

He was still staring out the window, trying to make out any shapes in the distant skyline (although it was impossible due to fog), when Anne entered again—Draco hadn't even noticed she was gone—carrying a pair of trousers and a long black T-shirt with a peculiar blood-red stamp on it.

"Here," she said, "they're my brother's. They might be a little baggy, but... at least they fit you."  
Draco stared at the clothes for a moment, his mind completely blank.  
"Um, you do have to change. You're soaking wet."  
It was then that he realized that he indeed was wet from top to toe; tiny drops of water were dripping from his hair onto his face, making him look more and more like a drowned cat.

"Your things are in the top drawer of the dresser over there," said Anne pointing towards the dresser opposite the bed. "I'll go downstairs to make something to eat, what would you like?"  
Draco pondered it for a while but couldn't think of anything, although his stomach was growling.  
"...Would eggs and bacon be okay?" she asked, looking at him with an eager, questioning look. He nodded and watched her leave the room and shut the door behind her, leaving him alone to change and rest until their breakfast was done.

_That girl must be crazy... _Draco thought. _Why did she take me in? What's in it for her?  
_The rain was now pouring hard outside, reflecting the blond boy's bittersweet and numb feelings.  
_I doubt if any of this matters at all right now..._

He walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. There was his cloak, the black turtleneck he had been wearing, and his wand. He looked at the wand intensely, wandering how curious the girl might get.  
_Let's hope she won't get curious,_ he thought anxiously. _I didn't survive just to be caught again._

Somewhere far away, the church bell-tower clock chimed noon.

xXx

He came down to the kitchen after a while, the smell of crispy bacon and eggs tantalizing his nostrils. The girl was standing over an electrical device, cooking. She looked reminiscent and thoughtful with a slight grin across her face, and as soon as she sensed the blond boy approaching, she served the breakfast on a big, white plate with a wide smile on her face. She beckoned for him to sit down at the round, wooden table that stood in the middle of the kitchen.

"Here," she said with a grin, "dig in."  
Draco picked up the fork hesitantly and started nibbling at his late breakfast, occasionally looking at the auburn-haired girl who was putting things in their places, organizing the kitchen in a very strict kind of way. He looked around him; everything was so... ordered. There wasn't a fiber out of place, not just in the kitchen but in the entire house.

He liked that. It reminded him of home... back when it was still pleasant to live there.

Time passed, and soon he finished eating. The girl cleaned up the kitchen and poured some orange juice for both of them into glasses with funny drawings on them. Right then there was a strange, loud growling noise from outside, like a machine accelerating, and then it stopped. A car door opened and shut.

Anne glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall above the back door, somewhat alarmed. It was almost two o'clock. Noticing that Draco was staring at her, she blushed and explained that it was probably her dad coming home from work. Draco looked towards the door, where a man had just entered.

He was a tall, middle-aged man, who looked a lot like _that darn Arthur Weasley _who worked at the ministry; only this man didn't have red hair and was even skinnier than Arthur Weasley. He was slightly balding and a pair of huge myopic glasses adorned his skinny face. He wore a light brown suit with a white shirt and a mismatched tie, and carried a boring-looking dark brown briefcase. When he saw Draco sitting at the kitchen table and Anne standing close by wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, he froze on his tracks, trying to comprehend the bizarre image. The rules said _no boys in the house_. Who was this blond punk now!

"Good day father," said Anne, not looking at him in the eyes.  
"Hi sweetheart," he replied, making small steps towards the kitchen. "Who is this?"

_This! That's the most creative thing he can say!_ thought Draco in disgust. _I'm not a bloody object!_

"Um... _this_ is Drake," answered Anne hesitantly, "and he'll be staying over for a while."

The man had adopted a relatively indifferent attitude so far, but now he dropped all pretenses and looked at his daughter austerely.  
"Young man..." he began with a firm yet rather dull voice, "...Drake, is it? Please leave us alone for a moment."

Normally Draco would tolerate none of this ordering behaviour on him by a mere Muggle; the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. However this girl had done little to deserve contempt—in fact, he had really developed a less detached feeling towards her, seeing that she had actually done so much for him when he had only shown her aggression and negative behaviour. It was the least he could do, not to retaliate her father's snappy manner.

He stood up and walked to the left, towards the far end of the kitchen where he had spotted another exit, which led to the left side of the house. He could still hear muffled voices as he walked towards the front of the house. Incoherent phrases like 'stranger' and 'inappropriate' reached his ears, but he paid no mind—his head ached like mad as the raindrops fell on him. Slowly, the bandage covering his would on his left forearm was becoming wet, and the pain was too much.  
Draco just sat on the sidewalk, face buried in his hands.

_Life sucks,_ he thought plainly, and his mind went blank as the voices from the kitchen rose in a crescendo.

xXx

"What do you think you're doing?" her father asked, looking at her snootily.  
"I'm helping someone in need," Anne answered, her chin up but her confidence faltering within her.

_This will be tougher than I thought,_ she said inside her head, measuring her options. _I have to convince him to let the boy stay! But how?_

"By letting him into our house? Do you even know what kind of person he is?"  
"You don't have to know someone to help him," she protested, testing his limits, "it's even in the Bible."  
He stared at her incredulously, a hint of irony in his eyes.  
"So now you're playing the good Samaritan."  
"I'm not playing anything, dad. I'm just speaking in terms that you understand." _Touché.  
_Her father crossed his arms and sighed.  
"Aaah..." he said exhaling, and adjusted the glassed on his nose. "To think you would go this far because of what happened with—"  
"It has nothing to do with that!" she cut him off saying, her voice rising. "I can't believe you even thought of it!"  
Mr. Richards was looking at the floor and nodding to himself silently, as if confirming his suspicions. Anne stared at him, so surprised and appalled that she stood speechless for many moments.

The tension and the silence were deafening in that small kitchen.

When Anne finally managed to retrieve her voice, she sounded weak and terrified.  
"By God, father... You're more obsessed with it than I am!" she exclaimed.  
He didn't answer. He looked up at her and spoke with an irrevocable tone.  
"That boy will not stay in my house."  
"But he isn't well! He'll die out there!"  
"Where is his family, then?"

She didn't know what to say; she hadn't cared enough to ask.  
_He did insist that he didn't have any family..._ she thought. But that wouldn't be enough to persuade her father of anything.

"I take your silence as ignorance," he continued, since Anne had not responded. "No matter how much in need this boy is, I am not taking a complete stranger into my house," he said, repeating himself over and over again.  
"He is my friend and I promised to help him!"  
"It won't be the first time you will break a promise."  
"I won't break a promise just because you won't let me keep it!"  
"You are my daughter and are obliged to obey me."  
"I am old enough to make my own decisions!"

"Sixteen and a half is hardly 'old enough'."  
"Since you won't allow any one to breathe... Look where Tom ended up!"  
"Leave Tom out of this!"

Another rush of silence spread.  
Anne looked into her father's eyes with all the determination she had left.  
"That boy needs me."  
He didn't respond immediately; when he did, though, his voice was both angry and weak.

"If you're doing this because of your—"  
"UGH! You just don't get it, do you?" Anne yelled at him and ran outside into the rain, throwing the white apron on the kitchen floor.

She barely noticed Drake sitting on the pavement in front of their lawn, his face buried in his arms; her tears blended with the rain that fell on her face as she turned right from her house and zoomed off into the distance.

The blond boy lifted his head just in time to see her fade away into the mist and the rain. He got up and started walking in the same direction. Why he did so, he wasn't sure... But he kept walking, the pain in his arm sharper than ever.

xXx

She was standing in the middle of a small, wooden bridge not very far from where her house stood, her almost orange hair now slick with the rain that still fell from the gray sky. Her arms were folded on the railing, and she was looking into the depths of the river, pouring her secrets out with the tears she still wept.

A few yards away, on the small paved path among the trees, stood Drake catching his breath, having run in order to keep up with her. Slowly he approached her, his footsteps a wet, muffled sound in that lonely and empty landscape.

She felt someone behind her and looked up; surprised, she saw the blond boy, soaked wet in his baggy, borrowed clothes.

"Why are you here?" she asked in a frail voice, turning to the river again.  
"I don't know," he answered blankly, following her gaze.

They remained silent for a long while, staring at the river, each of them thinking about different things. The rain fell incessantly upon them, and a sudden bolt of lightning illuminated the sky. It was getting cold...

"I like coming here to think," she said, half to Drake and half to herself, straightening her back a little but still leaning on the railing with her elbows.  
Not having heard her remark, he interrupted her thoughts with his own.  
"Why did you take me in?" he asked bitterly.  
Taken aback, she stood up completely and turned to face him.  
"What do you mean?" she said, forgetting about her father and the bridge and everything.

The look he threw her made her shiver with cold; _why is he being so aggressive?_

"You shouldn't take me in—I mean, thanks and whatever for 'rescuing' me, but... this is _my_ path now."

_Thanks and whatever!_ Anne thought, bewildered. _Clearly this guy isn't used to polite conversation._

"I'm not taking you off any path," she protested, looking at him in the eyes while he avoided her stare, "but in the case that you're in you won't last long. Just wait until you get better, and then go follow whichever path attracts your fancy!"  
Silence.  
"I just... I can't just let you die!"  
"What's wrong with death?" he said sarcastically, meeting her gaze now.  
"Nothing's wrong with it if the time is right for you to go. If you kill yourself you take away all hope of things getting better!"  
He looked away into the river.  
"Things can't get better... Not with me."  
"Wanna bet?"  
Her playful tone made him spin his head towards her. She was smiling sympathetically—a sad, yet encouraging smile.

"Trust me," she said, looking into his eyes boldly, "I've been where you are now... And the only thing I've learned is that life is full of ups and downs. Maybe the downs are very hard blows sometimes, but the ups are what life's worth living for!"

He looked away from her again, contemplating what she'd just said.  
The rain was slowly stopping now.

Could it be true? Is there always an 'up' after a 'down'?  
_Is there an 'up' for me, now?_

Anne looked up at the sky.  
"Maybe we ought to be getting home," she suggested.  
He stared at her blankly.  
She continued after his pause. "We'll get a cold... And you're already feverish from before."

He didn't protest; slowly, they both turned away from the bridge railing and took the path back towards Anne's house.

Draco did turn to look at the bridge once more.  
"Nice spot," he commented, only half-serious. Somehow he felt rather light-hearted right now.  
"Thanks," said Anne, stretching her arms. "I discovered it when I was little, and it's been my favourite place ever since..."

In a slow pace, recovering their strength and, surprisingly, their good mood, they walked off into the mist, with no rain falling on their heads anymore—the sun was breaking through the clouds that moved away to reveal a clear, blue sky.

_There's always an 'up' after a 'down'..._

**

* * *

****Nonsensical A/N for the other otakus reading this story...**

The characters have a very clear anime-like image for me; I have connected everything appearance-related to specific characters from various series. Like in this last, rainy scene: imagine a Kyo-like female figure Kyo Fruits Basket... don't laugh, he actually shares a lot with Anne... the orange hair for starters, LOL running off into the rain, and a wet Yuki Eiri running after her. The image was so clear-cut in my own head... OMG, the fandoms are merging! o.O I must be getting nuts.

Anyways, enjoy until I finish chapter four... It's gonna be a tough one, so please forgive me if I take too long...


	4. Suspended Time

**Title:** Rebirth  
**Author:** darchangel  
**Chapter:** 04 – _Suspended Time_  
**Summary: **set post-HBP After the Hogwarts incident, Draco fled—he didn't care where he would go, as long as no one could find him. When he nearly dies, a Muggle girl takes care of him. But it's Draco Malfoy—will he let her?

**WARNING: **HBP SPOILERS! Do not read if you haven't read the book! Readers, ye be warned!

**Disclaimers: **I don't own Draco (too bad, though), Harry Potter or any of the plot that happened before the story. I do own Anne and the rest of the characters appearing and that's awesome! LOL.

The plot, characters, bands and songs mentioned are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people and songs is entirely coincidental.

**Author's Notes:**

**1) On the songfic (generally on incorporated songfics):  
a.** I decided to incorporate some songfics into the regular flow of the story, like parts of actual chapters. This will give you both insight into the story/characters, and a tone which these parts convey.  
**b. **All my songfics are written in a particular pattern: the lyric precedes the text that goes with it, pretty much like a heading of sorts. Unpreceded text goes with the intro of the song.  
**c.** Between the verses there are transitional paragraphs that 'match' the music between the verses. I'm noting this because it might not be very clear.

**2) On the rest/whole of the chapter:  
a.** I did some research concerning the music Tom listens to. I can confirm that both Sepultura and Slipknot were around in 1996. Look it up if you don't believe me.  
**b.** Sorry in advance to any thrash/death metal fans that might be offended by my comments about the aforementioned genre/artists but it only serves to accentuate the brutality of waking up with a guy screaming incomprehensible things with the accommodation of a grungy guitar sound. Obviously I do not like that genre of music, but I don't want my readers to be offended by that. )

* * *

**Part One: Sleep**

It was pitch-dark and devilishly hot—Draco was almost suffocating as he lay on his back in his bed, in that pathetic excuse for a guest room he'd been living in, trying to force his eyelids shut but staring at the ceiling instead.

**I need some sleep; I can't go on like this...**

He stood up, cursing under his breath for everything that had gone wrong these past few days... and his whole life. The last two nights he hadn't managed to sleep at all; the images of the lightning-struck tower were so vivid in his head, he felt like the Dark Mark hung ominously above his four-poster bed. The very thought of that was so alarming that he couldn't close his eyes unless it was dawn. And then he cried so much that his eyes hurt as well.

_I can't go on like this,_ he thought, walking over to the tall, wide window on the far side of the room, to the right of the bed. He put his hands on the windowsill; the breeze was ever so slow and did little to relieve him of the relentless heat.

_Another sleepless night... for nothing._

**I tried counting sheep, but there's one I always miss...**

The little houses everywhere around were all so quiet... although the occasional electric buzz from here or there was quite annoying after a while.

Draco looked up at the sky; not a single cloud loomed over the small town. It was so dark that most of the stars glowed brightly against the total blackness of the sky. Everything seemed so pointless...

He sighed heavily, staring into the distance. He didn't know what to think or believe anymore—everything he had ever known had been fake to the greatest possible extent. He had grown up believing that hurting people and making them feel low and unworthy was not only acceptable, but mandatory from a wizard of his class and status. His father had more than encouraged any anti-social behaviour; Draco himself had developed a liking towards the maltreating of everyone around him—it made him feel strong and important.

Now he realized how wrong he had been to believe that.  
It only created an illusion...  
He wasn't strong, _or_ important.  
He was _nothing._

**Everyone says I'm getting down too low...  
Everyone says you just gotta let it go...**

"Could there be an 'up' now?"

The Muggle girl that took him in had said that there's always a good thing after a bad one… How he wished that could be true! She did seem to genuinely believe it… that day, at the bridge, she had managed to convince him somehow that things could actually get better at some point; now it seemed so hopeless…

There was nothing about her that suggested it might be true—yet her determined expression when she had looked him in the eyes was worth a thousand words of encouragement… The rain was falling on both of them, the river flowed unendingly below them, her auburn hair now looked brown and slick…

**You just gotta let it go… You just gotta let it go…**

And she's a Muggle.  
_Here I am, wasting my time and self with a Muggle!_  
She had saved him though.  
But she still was a Muggle.

…_What the hell am I hoping for?_

Aggravated, he left the window and turned towards the room. Anxiety was building up inside him, for so many things that he couldn't even name. His father, Potter, the Draco he had been for so many years, Potter, the lies he had believed, Dumbledore, Snape, the Dark Mark, Potter, Potter, POTTER! His whole life had always evolved around hating one person…

_Everything is so… WASTED!_

**I need some sleep; time to put the old horse down…**

A surge of hopelessness overwhelmed him, and he flipped; frantic, he searched for anything he could use to take his life, to _end this miserable torture once and for all!_

There was nothing. Not one knife, one needle, one freakin' rope to hang himself with…

_There's no reason to live! I want to die, NOW!_

Desperately, he yanked open the top drawer of the dresser, causing the entire thing to shake violently; he didn't care about making noise—if he had the chance to, he wouldn't survive to deal with the consequences of that... or anything else anymore.

There, inside that drawer, lay his most valuable thing in the entire world, the only thing that reminded him of where he belonged, what he loved and hated at the same time: his wand. Magic was all he had left now.

_Now what? Avada Kedavra?_

He picked up the wand from where it lay on his tattered black cloak, and held it as if it was the most beautiful and yet most horrible and dangerous thing there could ever be. Which it was.

He pointed it at himself, his fingers trembling, wondering if it would actually work. _Can someone really kill himself with this?_

**I'm in too deep, and the wheels keep spinning round…**

For some long moments he stayed with his hands in mid-air, his wand still pointed at his Adam's apple. He reached inside his mind, only retrieving shattered memories of his forever dysfunctional family, Slytherin, his friends—or dummies, more like… Vague images of Potter, of his father, of Voldemort… There was nothing he could hold on to, nothing he loved enough. Love… had he ever loved anyone or anything?

He remembered the night he first saw his father after fleeing Hogwarts with Snape and the others… Lucius had tightened a grip on Draco's throat, blocking all air from entering his lungs.. He would have died if his mother hadn't suddenly yanked the father away from the son, taking Draco in her protective embrace, tears streaming down her face.  
_That was it… All my life… for nothing…_

"Ava—Avad… Avada…"

He dropped the wand and fell on his knees, his own tears streaming like a river down his cheeks. He raised his hands to cover his face, ashamed of his thoughts and his inability to forget about all that made him the awful person he had once enjoyed being…

_It's my whole life… I can't just forget._

**Everyone says I'm getting down too low…  
Everyone says, _you just gotta let it go…_**

For a while he stayed on the floor, crying. His wand lay close by, the only thing he had left. He could only hear his own sobs and the soft passing of the breeze among the leaves of the tall aspen trees beyond the neighbours' houses on either side of the street.

His tears kept falling on the wooden floor silently; everything he had ever dreamed of was now broken, and all he had once thought was the truth of the world had been nothing but a complexion of lies... Even if he had someone to talk to, what would he say? Nothing could be nearly enough.

A faint musical sound broke the silence inside Draco's head.  
Someone was playing the guitar.  
Draco pulled himself together and wiped the tears from his face.

_I guess I'll live tonight_, he thought sarcastically.

He stood up, picking up the "useless piece of wood" and placing it safely back in the drawer. He sighed heavily as he closed it, and stared at his own reflection in the mirror that hung above the dresser. He looked so... old, with dark shades under his tired eyes, with sunken cheeks and an expression that said nothing about who he was or who he could be... Just another unimportant teenager, lost in a meaningless Muggle world that continued with its life, oblivious about the monstrous things that were happening all around them—unaware of what monsters could be responsible for that...

The guitar sound grew slightly louder, and Draco was surprised to hear a voice join in—_Anne?_

Slowly he approached his door and opened it only a little, allowing the sound to pour into his room like a soft breeze. He stepped outside, his feet suddenly feeling cold as he left the wooden floor of his room for the marble tiling of the hallway. He turned right and then left, advancing towards the decorated door that read "Anne." The sounds grew slightly louder with each step. He could hear Anne shuffle papers and scribble little notes on notebooks, then start over and play the same part of a song, over and over until she scribble something new, and then again... crafting a song into perfection.

**You've just gotta let it go... you've just gotta let it go...**

Draco felt the urge to speak, to say something about the life he so much hated and wanted to be rid of, about the lies he had so often said and believed, about the enemies he had made that might not be such enemies after all...

He shuffled in his position a little, raising his right fist in position to knock Anne's door... but lowered it. What was he going to say? To whom?_ Anne?_ She was nothing but a nurse, the girl who offered to help him get better. It's not like she'd understand any of it. And besides... she was a Muggle. What could a Muggle understand of Hogwarts, of magic, of Dumbledore and Potter and Voldemort and spells and curses and wands? This was beyond her all.

Slowly and quietly, he made his way back to his room, shaking his head and mumbling to himself about how stupid he was to have ventured out in the first place. He returned to his room and shut the door behind him, leaning his fragile frame against the door, breathing deeply and wondering what on earth it was that he wanted... Time and again, each night the same game within this dark room, and within his head. So much the same, in fact, that he began to think that time had been stopped—and he had been doomed to repeat the same frightful night over and over again in eternity. That thought scared him even more, and shook the sleep right off him. He could never rest unless it had dawned... he had started to feel like a vampire already.

Across the hall, Anne closed her door, having caught a glimpse of the blond boy shutting his own. He probably couldn't sleep again. What's on his mind must be heavy, she thought. But there was really nothing she could do, but hope that he would get over his mental wounds along with his physical ones, all in due time. There's no better healer than time and patience.

* * *

**Part Two: Sleepwalking**

The words of the song that permeated his sleeping eardrums and woke him up violently were incomprehensible—but Draco could swear that the song was about death. The guitars were harsh and resounding, the voice sounded angry, aggressive, repulsive; quite the way to wake up after another night of hopeless suicidal urges and ugly memories of lightning-struck towers and murderers that were considered _family..._

He grunted as he got out of bed sluggishly, his eyes still a bit blurry and his mind not clear at all. Staggering towards the door, he flinched at the nasty smell of boiling cabbage that came with the warm breeze through the window. It was a really, really unpleasant smell, and he hated this morning even more—morning, was it? He didn't really know. These days he had lost all sense of time, what with his sleeping patterns that never made any sense even to him.

Opening the door, he was delighted to be welcomed into the hallway by an overwhelming smell of... chicken! Well, certainly it wasn't cabbage or anything similarly slimy, green and disgusting. His eyes cleared up a little and he moved towards the staircase, grimacing as he passed in front of the door which the repulsive music seemed to emanate from—it had large letters on it, the door, but he couldn't make them out. He continued; the staircase was only a few steps away... Now he only had to reach the floor below. And that was more difficult than it sounded.

xXx

Clanging silverware together as she emptied the dishwasher, Anne sighed and wiped her forehead—sometimes she couldn't take the humidity in the kitchen while she cooked, but there was nothing she could do about it with both the cooker hood on and the window open... She closed the drawers and put everything in its place, and sat down to catch her breath as she waited for the contents of the pot to boil and the chicken to roast in the oven. She looked around the kitchen and was pleased to see everything clean and spotless, everything in order, everything looking welcoming and inviting. Her daily routine involved the kitchen a lot, and she liked to have an ordered and clean environment when she worked. The white apron she wore looked baggy on her, tall as she was. She had a wide black hair band on her head, and most of her hair was then pulled back into a tight, short pony-tail.

_The image of a perfect housewife,_ she thought to herself chuckling. _Mom wouldn't believe this if she saw me now._

At that moment Drake walked into the kitchen slowly, his eyes a bit unfocused and his steps not exactly in a straight line. He looked around and halted momentarily, taking in the shapes and colours he received and trying to recognize something he knew. He had made it this far and was very content with himself (along with angry at whoever it was that woke him up with that hideous music...). When he saw Anne he made a step but almost tripped; Anne stood up and quickly crossed the kitchen to support him. She helped him sit down on a chair at the round, wooden kitchen table with the baby-blue, flowery-patterned tablecloth, and kneeled down beside him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, I'm... well, I'm... better," Drake managed to utter, his eyes looking puffy and dark and his face looking considerably pale. Anne fetched a towel to wipe the tiny beads of sweat off his forehead, her eyes wide with concern and worry.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," she said, "you ought to sleep in. You didn't get a good night's rest last night either."

"How do you know?" Drake exclaimed, suddenly a bit more lively and energized but also secretly alarmed at Anne's remark—could it be that she had seen him outside her room the night before?

"You look awful, that's how I know! A person who sleeps well never has dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes aren't puffy either. What are you doing up anyway?"

Draco relaxed and sighed.

"The music woke me up."

"The music? What mu—oh... I'm gonna KILL THE BLOODY BASTARD!"

"Who?"

"It's my brother, Tom. Oh he's gonna get it hard from me, wait till he comes down to lunch and I'll show him... He _knows_ there's an ill person in the house and yet—UGH!" Anne stood up and paced frantically for a while, trying to calm herself.

Soon the pot was whistling in the far left corner of the kitchen and the orange-haired girl reached over to remove the cap and stir the contents a little, just as the front door opened and Mr. Richards walked in holding a small, light-brown leather briefcase. He closed the door and proceeded straight into the kitchen, in a manner that almost seemed mechanical and automatic. For an instance he paused, and looked at the blond boy that sat at the table.

He turned to his daughter and asked, "What is that boy doing downstairs?"  
"Tom woke him up with his thrash metal junk. I have to go beat him up for that."  
"Is lunch ready?"  
"Yes."  
"Well go get him and we'll talk about it over food."  
"Fine."

Anne left the wooden spoon near the sink and rushed to the stairs, a furious frown distorting her usually calm face. She reached Tom's door and tried to open it—as always, it was locked.

"Hey, kid rascal, lunch is ready!""I'll be right down," a boyish voice answered, sounding bored and angry and fed up all at once.  
"Now, jackass."  
"I said I'll be right down!"  
"I don't care, get out right now."  
"In a minute."  
"I said NOW, asshole!"

The boy stood up and unlocked the door, yanking it open with nerve. The ugly music spilled out through the doorway. Beyond it stood a 15-year-old youngster, all dressed in black, his pants baggy and worn, his shirt bearing an ugly band of dubious musical worth, with lots of leather wristbands around his skinny little hands and a metallic spike necklace around his neck. His hair had been spiked up with tons of some fruit-smelling hairstyling product—so much for the tough guy look.

"What do you want?" he said, eyeing his sister with a gaze full of contempt.The girl looked down at her brother, sniffing the air for what she knew she would smell—tobacco smoke.  
"Lunch is ready," she said. "And turn off that idiot."  
"It's called thrash metal," the boy said in a "duh" tone as he crossed the room to turn off the stereo.  
"Whatever. You woke up Drake when he needed his sleep, you know he's sick and he needs to recover."  
"I'm not living in a hospital, it's my house and it's almost 3 and I can do whatever I want."  
"You wouldn't do it if it was Dad who was sick," Anne said as she watched her brother close the door to his room and walk past her in a nonchalant manner, completely ignoring her.  
"Because Dad would kick my butt if I did," the boy said without looking at her and making his way to the staircase. She followed him.  
"It's the same way now," she said as they were both descending the stairs.  
"No, it isn't," the boy protested, still not looking at her. "Dad acts as if that guy doesn't exist."  
"That guy has a name."  
"Who cares?"

They had reached the kitchen by now, and Tom took his usual seat at the table opposite Anne and between his father and the blond boy who looked seriously pale and spaced out.

Anne served lunch for everyone, and then sat down at her place between her father and Drake, and opposite her younger brother. They started eating quietly, Drake clearly making an effort to move his very fingers. Tom looked at him as if he was some sort of a freak.

"Tom!" hissed Anne behind clenched teeth. "Stop staring!"  
The boy threw one last sideways look at the stranger and resumed his lunch.  
Mr. Richards was eyeing all the occupants of the table, lingering on his son and completely ignoring the blond stranger. He had been acting as if the boy was a figment of his daughter's imagination.  
"Tom," he started, eyes fixed on the chicken on his plate as he cut a piece with his knife.  
"Yes, _father_," the boy said with a subtle ironic tone that the authority figure of the household did not quite grasp.  
"I do not like music so loud at this time of day—and I believe your sister has asked you to be as quiet as possible for her work—"  
"There is a sick person in the house, father!" protested his daughter.  
"Either way," he continued calmly, still looking at his plate while he kept his hands busy with the silverware, "I want you to keep the volume down in the morning, it is a sensitive time of the day."

The boy grunted but nodded in annoyed agreement while shooting an angry look at his sister, who looked content and upset at the same time.

The blond boy seemed not to care about anything happening around him. His appetite was small and he ached all over his left arm.

For a while it was all quiet, and no one looked at the others except for the occasional "could you pass me the salt please" or "could I have a napkin" and other related culinary remarks of utter unimportance. The blond boy remained quiet, which pleased Mr. Richards immensely.

Suddenly, Tom resumed control and erupted in a fit of displeasure.

"And why did you take in the freak?" he asked, silverware resting at the sides of his plate, his gaze fixed upon his sister.  
"Because he needed help," said Anne calmly, although on the inside she was worried that this might affect Drake severely. "And don't call him a freak," she added. "His name is Drake."  
"I don't care what his name is!" the young punk answered, almost shouting now. "He has taken away my freedom. Nobody cared about how loud my music was, and now everyone's like _keep the volume down, there's a sick person in the house blah blah blah..._" he said mockingly, upsetting Anne who would soon be fuming.  
"I don't—need—to be patronized—by you..." Anne said slowly, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself down. "This boy needed my help and I offered it to him. There's nothing you can do other than DEAL WITH IT. Go out and meet your stupid friends and get out of my way, okay?"  
Tom did not remain silent. He opened his mouth to let out a million reasons why Drake should not stay at their house—the majority of these reasons Anne had heard from her father days ago when Drake had first moved in. She rolled her eyes and waited for her brother to finish; whatever he said wasn't going to change the way things were right now—either way, it was more about himself other than the 'safety of this house' and everyone's health (an argument which Anne threw down by saying that what Drake had was not contagious, so Tom had better lay off the viral arguments)...

Draco wasn't really listening to the fight between the two siblings, and he wasn't very keen on eating either. The sound of their voices was growing fainter and fainter, as if it was blurring in his ears. Nothing they said mattered now—Draco wondered why the Muggle girl spent so much time worrying about the consequences; if he was such a burden, why did she keep him anyway? And as his mind struggled to understand, consciousness left him in a great surge of pain and he fell from his seat on the marble kitchen floor.

It was as if colour and motion was returned to the kitchen; with the blond boy's fall all three members of the Richards family (including the father, who pretended that the boy did not exist altogether) turned their heads towards him. Anne sprung from her seat and hurried to the boy's aid, only to discover that he was unconscious. She took a look at his arm and saw that the bandage was now soaked with blood—probably the boy had stretched his skin somehow and the wound had been torn open again. She turned Drake around so that he lay on his back, then stood up and crossed the kitchen to the small cupboard above the fridge where she kept bandages and all other medicines. She retrieved a clean bandage and some antiseptic and returned to Drake's side.

Meanwhile her brother had stooped down next to the stranger and was eyeing his soaked left forearm curiously. Why was he bleeding? What sort of wound did he have? Deep down he wasn't as disapproving as he was curious about the arrival of the blond boy—it's not as if he cared much about the safety of the house anyway... he himself hung out with a much more dangerous crowd every day. He used to at least, before they ditched him this afternoon before lunch over the most ridiculous fight ever.

"Move over," said Anne, shoving her brother aside. He would have snapped at her if he hadn't been so curious about what lay beneath the bandages. Anne unfolded a clean piece of bandage and took a pair of scissors in her hand to discard the old one. She turned to the boy stooping down beside her.

"You don't want to look at this, it's ugly," she said, and prepared to cut the bandage on the boy's forearm. Tom remained still in his position.

"Are you sure you want to watch?" she said, arching her eyebrows at him. The boy made no comment nor looked at her; he simply continued to stare at the unconscious Drake on the floor. "Have it your way then," mumbled the orange-haired girl as she proceeded with Drake's bandages.

Tom indeed was shocked by the ugliness of the blond boy's wounds—but at the same time, he was fascinated. And he couldn't hide this fascination from his face when his sister glanced at him momentarily as she changed the pieces of cloth around the boy's wound.

"What's all the excitement for?" Anne snapped sarcastically, as she fastened the new, clean bandages around Drake's forearm. "Weren't you the one who wanted him ousted?"

Her brother blushed as she stood up and put the first aid supplies back into their cupboard—he kept sneaking glances at the suddenly interesting stranger... _What had he done to himself? Why?_ All of a sudden, this boy seemed a lot more tough and invincible than the feeble "sick person" that inhabited the guest room... Tom stood up and helped his sister carry the unconscious boy up to the guest room again.

As Anne adjusted the bed covers over Drake, she turned around to her brother and looked at him awkwardly.

"Um... thank you," she said, thinking that there definitely was something up with her brother. But it couldn't be helped at this point. Whatever it was, it wasn't bad for him.

Shutting the door as she exited the blond boy's room, Anne watched her brother quietly make his way to his room and close his own door with the faintest sound. Arching her eyebrows in a delicate shrug, Anne went back to the kitchen to clean up and maybe rest for a bit, since all her chores had been completed in the morning.

xXx

When Drake woke up his head felt heavy and dizzy. Next to him a figure had rested its head on his bed, and was probably sleeping since whoever it was didn't realize Drake fidgeting as he woke up. As the blond boy's vision cleared he discerned the vivid orange colour of Anne's hair, and pulled himself backwards, unconsciously, moving away from her. Why he did this, he didn't know. Perhaps it was because he grew up believing that Muggles were vile, detestable creatures that were worth nothing. Yes, he thought sarcastically, that must be it.

Two forces were fighting inside him every time he faced these people. The Malfoy inside him would want to brutally torture these worthless humans until they pleaded for death. But there was something in that girl's attitude and in her taking care of him that felt good. _Could it be that Muggles are actually not that bad? _

_No,_ a voice in his head said. Muggles _are abominations. They should all be killed._

_Right,_ he thought again. How could he ever have thought otherwise?

As he fidgeted a little bit more to get out of the covers —quite unsuccessfully since his left forearm hurt like the devil— he accidentally bumped her head with his knee, and she woke up with a start.

"You're up," she said as her eyes focused. The boy made to move but she held him down. "Please stay in bed," she said with a worried look in her eyes. "You shouldn't have come downstairs in the first place, not when you're in pain." He glowered at her like a hurt puppy that had been tied down.

For a moment they both remained silent. Then the girl shifted awkwardly and started to say something, when the front doorbell rang. Draco turned towards the door, alarmed. "Relax," said Anne, "I'll get that. You stay here." With that she left the room and headed downstairs swiftly. Passing by Tom's room she heard the same music as before, but in a considerably lower volume. She shrugged at this sudden surge of thoughtfulness and descended the stairs two at a time; reaching the door she yanked it open with one quick, strong movement.

"...Frank," she said, as if she that was the least expected person to show up on her front door.  
"Good to see you too. Where were you? We said 6pm at my place?"  
Anne glanced at her watch and back at her best friend. It was 6:45.  
"Oh my god Frank I'm so sorry! I completely forgot!"  
"It's okay, I figured you did. Is everything okay?"  
"Yeah... come on in."

The long haired boy stepped in the coolness of Anne's living room, looking around and checking if the coast was clear.  
"Where's your dad?" he asked as Anne was closing the door behind him.  
"Either sleeping or out. Not in this room at any rate. Did you guys rehearse without me?"  
"I helped Lainie learn the ballad, she keeps missing a note in the chorus and it's driving me crazy... other than that no. We were waiting for you but you didn't show."  
"I fell asleep! I was a mess and I wasn't planning on it but I guess I just dozed off—"  
"Hey, it's okay. We all get crappy days," said Frank putting a hand on Anne's shoulder compassionately.  
"Tell me about it... Oh I wrote a new song last night. Wanna hear it?"  
"Sure," said Frank but his eyes were captured by something else—something blond and moving. "Who's that?"

Anne spun around to see Draco coming down the stairs with slow, drowsy steps. "What are you doing downstairs?" She crossed the living room to his aid, but he refused to take her hand. "I just want some water, I can do it by myself—" he said, but Anne cut him off. "We've been through this before. Just sit on the couch and I'll get you water. I told you to stay in bed! You're such a child!" With long strides she crossed the living room and into the kitchen as the blond boy grumpily plunked himself on one of the white sofas arranged around the coffee table. She returned with a glass of tap water and a frown on her face.

"There," she said, giving the glass to the blond boy. "Now please get back to bed?"  
"I'm fine," snapped the boy and feebly took a few sips of water—it was obvious that he was everything but fine. All the while Frank was eyeing him somewhat indiscreetly, which made Anne chuckle softly. She winked at her friend and argued with the boy until he gave in and let her help him go back to the guest room, grunting and complaining but going upstairs all the same.

Closing the door of the guest room, the orange-haired girl motioned to Frank to follow her in her own room. She took her acoustic guitar from behind the door, and sat on her bed where an open notebook lay amongst a pile of papers. Frank sat on the revolving chair next to her desk, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface of the desk while Anne shuffled her papers in search for the song she had written the previous night.

"Who is that guy anyway?"  
Anne looked up from her papers. Frank was staring at her like she was hiding a secret from him. "He... I'm sort of... taking care of him right now."  
"In a hospital sort of way?"  
"Yeah."  
"Why?"  
"Long story."  
"I just hope you know what you're doing here."  
"It's not like I'm marrying him, for crying out loud! When his wound heals he'll be off!"  
"Don't get all defensive, I—"  
"I'm not getting defensive."  
"Fine, have it your way. Don't be upset."  
"I'm not upset, it's just... all I've received is criticism for helping one person who needed it, and—"  
"That's not the whole story is it?"  
Anne just stared at him, and a soft blush coloured her cheeks. "What do you mean?"  
"Others have needed help before but you haven't taken them all in."  
The girl sighed and looked down. "Listen," she said, looking up at him again, her face now determined. "I don't want to talk about it right now. It's been a hell of a day."  
Frank raised his hands in an okay-I-give-up way. "Whenever you feel ready," he said, and his friend relaxed. "But hey," he added, "I want you to know that I'm with you all the way okay?"  
Anne smiled. "Thanks," she said and went back to tuning her guitar.

"Okay... here goes."

Across the hall a sullen Draco Malfoy was cursing the very moment that girl had come upon him. Not only had he survived, but he was being kept imprisoned by a Muggle girl. Of all the nerve, honestly!

Gentle guitar strokes were carried to his room with the soft breeze. Anne's voice soon joined in, singing the song she has been writing the previous night. At that moment he had felt somewhat hopeful in spite of his desperation... But all of it was in vain. Soon it would be dusk, and Draco's disturbing thoughts and memories would once again not let him sleep.

_There's nothing I can say  
To take away the pain behind your eyes  
There's nothing I can do  
To melt away those fears in your heart  
I know there's no one you can trust  
For the wounds are far too deep  
But the fire that rages within your soul  
Has a strength it longs to keep_

_Don't be afraid  
Don't let go of me now  
Don't be too proud to say you're hurt  
Don't drown the tears  
Sometimes it's best to let them flow  
Just don't turn your back now that I'm here_  
'_Cause I know what you're going through_

Draco turned his back to the window and put his hands over his ears. Somehow he felt that song had more than one meaning even for his own troubled mind. Already a greenish glow was finding its way through his window, and alarmed he tossed and turned, with his eyes tightly shut trying to keep it away.

_Useless. It's all just pointless._  
And until daybreak again the same story, all over until the sun would rise and he would feel safe again. It wasn't about strength or courage, wounds, pain or pride—how can you fight something you can't even see except with your mind's eye? Over and over, same images and same insecurities threatened to drive him insane.

In the end, none of it mattered anymore.  
Until the next morning.


End file.
